It might have been Shakespeare who said, "It is bad luck to fall on the job, but it is far worse luck to crack your head on a vintage Formica counter top as you fall."
This is what happened to me two weeks ago. I'm minding the Torpedo, listening to the WENL jazz show, when somewhere in the middle of King Pleasure's take on "Moody's Mood For Love" I start to swoon. The world went sideways before I could get my ass into a chair.
This has happened before, you see. Thanks to a dirty little punch to the head I took during a 3-round donnybrook thirty years ago, I’ve got a bum inner ear. From time to time, it shoots dice with my equilibrium.
A few minutes go by and I start to get up, but my back's screaming and I feel a goose egg forming on my right temple.
That's when he materializes out of thin air.
"You all right, mister?"
I look up and see a kid - maybe fourteen years old - holding a shoebox in his hands.
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